Date for Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

cover. Even with air-conditioning it was hot in the house.
    She lay motionless and tried to sleep, flat on her back, her arms stretched at her sides and her eyes closed very lightly. But there was no sleep; there was no relaxation. Disgustedly she kicked the sheet from her with one foot and lay without covering, letting the subtle currents from the air-conditioning unit flow across her slightly damp body. That felt good. Perhaps she could relax enough to doze.
    She thought she had dozed and was dreaming. She heard footsteps, closing doors, and finally what seemed the rattle of her own doorknob. A stealthy turning of it at first, and then a sudden impatient rattling, annoyingly awakening her. She opened her eyes. Daylight had broken outside, and the dim half-light of early morning poured in through the windows, giving the room a cold clarity of detail.
    Her eyes went to the doorknob. It actually was turning. Someone was trying to get in! She sensed that her dream had actually been caused by the action of the person outside. She knew she was right when she heard Chunk Farman’s voice whipping angrily from across the hall.
    “What in hell are you doing by Idell’s door?”
    And Link’s unmistakable rumbling bass answered, “What’s it to you? I want to talk to her.”
    “Get back to bed,” Farman ordered. “Let her sleep. She’s had a tough enough time without you causing more trouble.”
    “Listen, punk, I’ve had enough out of you. You shoot your yap off too much!”
    Idell gasped. What was Link speaking? He sounded so utterly different in his drunken anger. Like a type of person she had read of but never seen.
    She slipped her legs hurriedly off the bed and stood up. She snatched a negligee from the end of the bed where the Queen had laid it alongside thin pajamas, and slipped into it. She was totally unconscious of herself and the sheerness of the negligee. Her one thought was to stop Link from fighting with Chunk Farman. Even as she opened the door, though, she heard the distinct sound of a fist on flesh, of a head thudding against wood and a body falling to the floor of the hall.
    Idell stared at the scene almost directly across from her. Link stood over Chunk Farman. He was dressed as he had been, in loose slacks, polo shirt and moccasins. Farman was in striped pajamas. He lay motionless, his head cocked against Maybelle’s door, his body sprawled full length along the hall. A trickle of blood ran from the right corner of his sagging mouth. Link was hunched as though he would lift his foot and kick the other on the slightest provocation.
    “Link!” Idell’s voice carried no shock, only a biting command. He jerked around so ponderously his movement seemed slow. She saw that his eyes were bloodshot, his face red. His lips were loose and his breath came heavily through them. He was very drunk; evidently he had sat in his room and drunk still more than he had consumed downstairs.
    She had no inkling of the reason for his strange stare until he started ponderously forward. Then she realized suddenly that the light from the windows behind her shining through her sheer negligee outlined her slim body as though she wore nothing. And as if he had spoken aloud, she knew the trend of Link’s thoughts. She gave a tiny gasp of dismay and threw the door shut. She scrambled backward, one hand reaching for the pajamas that lay at the foot of the bed.
    She heard the doorknob turn again and realized that in her hurry she had not turned the key. “Stay out of here!” she called. “Go back to bed, Link.” Her voice held no quaver of fear; until that door opened it was a bulwark against him. She knew the pajamas were useless, so she dropped them and wrapped the negligee more tightly about her.
    He flung the door open and staggered into the room. He leaned unsteadily against the wall and watched her, his eyes bloodshot, a foolish grin on his thick lips. He was drunker than she had ever seen him; before, he had been almost